


sleep on the floor

by wastelandbaby



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fix-It, Found Family, Karaoke, Kissing, M/M, eddie is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandbaby/pseuds/wastelandbaby
Summary: After the events at Neibolt, Richie proposes a night outside of Derry's city limits.





	1. if we don't leave this town, we might never make it out

**Author's Note:**

> *spits on canon* Eddie is alive

Bev jumps first, then Ben. The water’s surface erupts in a cluster of white waves as each loser’s body disturbs the calm current of the quarry. It’s down to the two of them.

“You know, I really thought I’d lost you back there.” Richie doesn’t look at him as he says it, unable to face the possibility of losing Eddie. 

A hand comes down on his shoulder, “It’s just a scratch.” Eddie squeezes, assuring Richie that he’s right there beside him. He reaches up, “You should take these off, put them in your pocket or something,”

Shoving Eddie’s hand away from his face, he says, “Nah, they’ll be fine.”

“I’ve always hated this jump,” Eddie’s voice sounds small.

Richie snorts, “After everything you’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours, you’re afraid of a little cliff?” He finally looks at Eddie, catching the crease between his brows, the way he frowns the same way he always had, but now there were deep lines surrounding it. 

He drops the subject, instead opting to hold out his hand. Eddie stares at it for a moment, before shakily placing his own hand in Richie’s. Nodding his head toward the water, Richie takes a step forward, pulling Eddie along with him.

The ground ends too soon, the two men plummeting down. Down until they split the still bubbling surface, slipping deep into the current’s throes. 

Richie’s glasses didn’t stand a chance, whipped somewhere below him on the floor of the quarry. He opens his eyes, the world in turquoise, and sees that with his free hand, Eddie had decided to hold his nose.

Laughing, watching the bubbles float up above him, Richie pulls Eddie closer, tapping him on the shoulder. He moves within a hairsbreadth of Eddie’s lips, waiting for him to see. Eddie attempts to open his eyes, only blinking a dozen times in half a second before giving up, making his way up. Damn it. 

Making his way up to the surface as well, Richie’s hand finally leaves Eddie’s, since he’s moving much faster than Richie.

When he breaks for air, Richie glances over at a very blurry Eddie sputtering and rubbing his eyes frantically. Richie shakes his head, wondering why he finds it so endearing. 

Blinking over and over, Richie attempts to focus on anything at all, to no avail. He yells, despite everyone being close by, “Hey, does anyone know where my glasses went? I can’t fucking see.”

To his left, Eddie says, “They’re going to be close to where you jumped, dipshit.”

“Oh, well lookie here! We have a genius among us! Who are you? I can’t see a goddamn thing.”

Laughter rang from all around Richie, except Eddie muttering, “I hate you,” Before diving underneath the water.

Seconds later, he emerged, holding Richie’s glasses high above his head. Richie surged forward, the water slowing his movements by force. He snatched the glasses from Eddie’s grip, shoved them onto his face haphazardly, and then pulled Eddie to him.

“Love you, Eddie-bear” He proclaimed before leaving a wet, noisy kiss on his un-stabbed cheek. Eddie made a loud retching sound, pushing Richie away. The other losers laughed from every which way.

“Don’t _ever_ call me that again,” Eddie pointed his shaky finger in Richie’s face.

“Sure thing, Eds.” Richie laughed, watching the pink travel from Eddie’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. He splashed Eddie, laughing louder when Eddie howled his distaste.

Rushing forward, Eddie hissed, “Fuck you,” and tackled Richie under the water. Richie’s back hit the sand, and this time Eddie’s eyes were wide open. 

As he smiled, bubbles escaped upward, his glasses threatening to slip off of his face again. He planted his hands on either side of Eddie’s t-shirt collar, and pulled.

Their faces sat less than an inch apart, Richie unable to stop smiling long enough to close his mouth for one moment. He let one hand travel up to Eddie’s face, which was shooting him a wild look.

He knew Eddie would only stay under so long, so he pulled himself together.

Caressing his thumb across Eddie’s cheek, he connected their lips. Richie let his eyes slip closed as Eddie pushed into him, and the world went blank. 

He would’ve stayed down there forever, had his lungs not started to burn. Eddie caved first, pulling back and blinking once, then twice, at Richie before pushing off the ground and heading for the surface. Richie chased him up there.

They hardly broke the water’s tension before Richie had his arms around Eddie, spinning him back around and throwing himself into another kiss. His hands settled on Eddie’s waist, and somewhere behind him or off to the side he heard someone say, “Get a room!”

Richie pulled back, looking around for the source, “Alright,” He started making his way toward the shoreline, “Let’s all get a room.”

Ben, who had his arm draped loosely around Beverly’s shoulders, said, “What?”

Shaking his head, Richie rambled, “No! Let’s all get a room, let’s all get _out_ of here. A hotel in the nearest city, Eddie what’s the nearest city?”

“Augusta,” Eddie supplied.

“_Augusta!_” Richie thrust his finger in the air, “C’mon, let’s go. Haven’t you all had enough of this place?”

No one answered him, but they all began to follow him to the shore. He went on about how they would have an elaborate and extravagant time together, away from all the din of Derry.

Once he made it onto the rocky shore, Richie spun around, a wild spark in his eyes. Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat, because he catches sight of the cliff they all just jumped off of. 

He huffs, “Oh, fuck,” Making a half-hearted gesture towards the top, “We still have to go all the way back up there for our shoes and shit.”

The others laugh at him, Mike patting his shoulder and shaking him lightly. Richie turns to join the rest of the losers as they make the trek back up to the top of the cliff to collect their belongings.


	2. i was not born to drown, baby come on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: Richie goes ape shitt in the hall

The sheets are rougher than he’d prefer, but the hotel was on the cheaper side, so he couldn’t really complain. The duvet, full of that cheap stuffed animal-grade stuffing, lay crumpled at the bottom of the double-sized mattress. Richie hadn’t bothered to take his shoes off, though he’d been laying there for some time now.

He steals yet another glance at the analog clock on the nightstand next to the bed.

6:07

When they arrived in the early afternoon, he’d told the other losers to take some time to regroup. Lord knows they needed it. They all agreed to meet up again around 7:00 PM, to give everyone enough time to get settled.

The only problem with that was that Richie wasn’t really a settler, and his body only allowed him to nap for so long before he begins to go stir-crazy. If he wasn’t so sore from the fight, he would be pacing the length of the small room. 

Pretending he didn’t just do the exact same thing five minutes before, he begins to count the ruffles in the top of the curtain panels hanging from the windows. There’s about twenty per panel, and there are four panels. Eighty ruffles. The same amount he counted earlier.

Eyes traveling up to the ceiling, he catches sight of a cigarette burn mark. Yet again he wonders how the fuck that could’ve happened. He thought of asking one of the staff, maybe it was a funny story he could incorporate into his next act. 

He stares into the blinking green light on the smoke detector, counting how many times it blinks in ten seconds. Five times, which means it blinks once every other second, which means it blinks thirty times a minute and eighteen hundred times in an hour. Which means it has blinked roughly ten thousand or so times in the hours he’s been laying here.

Another look towards the clock.

6:09

_Fuck_. He can’t do this anymore. Richie sits bolt upright on the lumpy mattress, feeling the full force of his injuries plus gravity. But he just can’t lie there any longer than he already has, so he gets up. Grabbing his room key and wallet, he rips open the door and saunters out into the hall.

Everyone had checked in at the same time, all requesting single rooms, so they all ended up on the same floor. Trouble is, though, that there are only seven of them, and twelve rooms on this floor. 

Richie doesn’t care enough to think it through, he starts knocking directly on the door next to his. A sleepy Beverly answers, another figure sluggishly moving on the bed behind her.

“Ah, _okay_,” Richie half-whispers, “I see. C’mon, wakey-wakey it’s time to get the night going,” He doesn’t wait for either of them, just continues onto the next door.

This time when he knocks, a man he does not know opens the door with a phone pressed to his ear, “What do you want?”

“Whoopsie, wrong door,” Richie moves on without a second glance at the man. As he walks to the next door he hears a distant, “_Richie!_ You can’t do this,” Hissed from Beverly.

Fist poised in the air in front of his next target, he quips, “And why not?”

“Because it’s crazy people behavior,” Bev is right next to him now, grabbing his hand out of midair, “Plus, I know everyone’s room numbers.”

The door in front of them opens to reveal a disgruntled Bill with wild bedhead and a bewildered look in his eyes. Richie places a hand on the doorjamb, “I think my approach is working just fine, thank you very much.”

But before Richie can get any further, Bev rolls her eyes, scoffing at him. She crosses the hall, knocking on two doors directly next to one another, then crosses again and knocks on two more. The other losers answer almost immediately, not giving Richie the time to continue his escapade.

Mike rubs his eyes as he steps across the threshold of his room into the open hallway, “Hey, what gives? I thought we had another hour.”

“I’m bored,” Richie deadpans.

“The s-sun isn’t even down yet,” Bill chimes in.

Spinning around and pointing directly into his face, Richie nearly yells, “And neither are _we_.”

“What you just said,” Eddie says through a yawn, “Makes no fucking sense. Like none at all.” 

Richie takes in the crumpled state of Eddie’s clothing and the way his hair is flat on one side. He’s clearly just woken up, like the rest of the losers. Richie can’t stand looking at him like that, so he just snaps, “Look at yourself, Eds, pull it together. You’ve all got ten minutes to meet me downstairs at the bar.”

Not waiting for a response, he spins on his heels and makes his way toward the elevator, punching the ‘down’ button a bit too hard. No one says anything, though, opting to collectively stare at Richie’s back as he enters the squeaky elevator.

He turns back to face the others as he hits the button for the ground floor, then jumps twice in place, making the elevator shake. He flails his arms dramatically, “Whoa, you’d better all hurry before I _die_.”

Each loser takes a turn rolling their eyes as the elevator doors close and they all hear, “Of boredom!” Muffled through the insulated metal. 

Inside, Richie stares at the emergency buttons, wondering if he’ll have to wreak havoc on the hotel just to get someone to pay attention to him. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets just to squash the temptation.

The elevator moves tantalizingly slow, and he’s only coming from the third floor. He could’ve bounded down the stairs and been two shots into the night by now. He huffs, resting his head on the wall behind him and counting the ceiling panels. There are nine. 

Each of the doors slide open at different speeds, and Richie steps out into the dingy hotel lobby. His feet scuff across the mock-marble flooring as he heads toward the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated :)


	3. will you lay yourself down and dig your grave, or will you rail against your dying day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie be off the shits

He crosses the threshold between the lobby and bar, the hard floor giving way to worn carpet. _Strange choice_, Richie thought as he pondered all of the spilled drinks that were probably trapped in the fibers forever. 

No one else appeared to be in the bar, which was fair. It was just after 6:00PM on a weekday. Oh well, more for him. He approached the bartender, taking a seat on a stool.

“What’ll it be?”

Richie tapped his fingers on the counter absentmindedly, “A, uh, vodka cran.”

The bartender, a gruff older looking man, gave Richie a very telling judgmental once-over. Richie had half a mind to ask him if he had a son whose dick he could suck, but he really needed that drink.

It took a lot out of Richie to not loosen and bend his wrist when he took the drink just to make the old bartender uncomfortable, but he really didn’t want to ruin the night so early on. 

Just then, Ben walks in with Bev not far behind him. They’re practically holding hands, or arms, whatever it is that they’re trying to do with their bodies at the moment.

They stroll up to the counter almost perfectly in sync. Ben and Bev order the same drink, and Ben turns to Richie, “Got a head start?” He nods toward Richie’s glass. 

“Had to do something while all of you picked the sleep out of your eyes.” Richie punctuates his words by taking a large swig of his drink.

Next to enter the bar are Bill and Mike. They walk shoulder to shoulder, Richie makes a mental note to interrogate the two of them about that later. Maybe a handful of drinks later. 

The bartender seems perturbed, forced to work a shift he probably normally spends sleeping. He works on orders slowly, which was fine, the losers weren’t in any sort of rush tonight.

Maybe no one would’ve noticed Eddie hesitate at the threshold of the room, but Richie had always been strangely in-tune with whatever Eddie does. So Richie watches over his shoulder as Eddie shoves his hand in his pocket, probably in search of his inhaler. Eddie rips his hand back out, bunches up his fists at his sides, and crosses into the dim room. 

Through his loose t-shirt, Richie can see the outline of the many bandages Eddie has undoubtedly applied to his wounds meticulously and with a gentle hand. Perhaps, he thought, all of his mother’s crazy torture methods over the years had trained him for this moment. Maybe it all paid off.

_Fuck that_, Eddie thinks as he surges forward to order a line of shots for the losers and something fruity off the menu.

Mike caught the shot glass Eddie was sliding down the counter toward him, “Wow, how generous of you, Eddie.” Raising an eyebrow, Eddie nods his head once, then throws back the shot before the others can even arbitrarily clink their glasses together. 

He coughed, trying to cover up the sound with the back of his hand. Richie laughed at him, and followed as the others all simultaneously took their shots.

Richie wrapped his knuckles on the surface of the countertop, “Say, mister bartender, does this place have a karaoke machine?”

“You’ve only had two drinks, Rich,” Eddie observes.

“Did I _ask you_?” Richie nearly spits out.

The bartender looks repeatedly between the two of them, rolls his eyes, and gestures towards the back of the bar that’s practically completely darkened. He growls, “Just don’t turn it up too loud.”

In his head, Richie makes another mental note to turn it all the way up. He leaves his empty glass up on the counter, making his way toward the alleged karaoke machine. 

“C’mon Bennie-boy,” Richie pats Ben on his broad shoulder, “I know you’re a closet music freak. I remember your bedroom back in the day.”

For the first time since they arrived, Ben and Bev stop touching when Ben reluctantly lets himself be dragged across the room by Richie. He folds his arms across his chest as Richie presses some buttons on an old karaoke machine in the dark.

Richie calls out, “Hey, how do you turn this thing on?”

“The power button,” The bartender shouts back.

Rolling his eyes, Richie jams all of the buttons he can find until lights start to come on. Ben shoots him a look, and all Richie has to say is, “What? It worked.”

In the background, the other losers are moving all of their drinks to a booth nearer to the stage setup. A few dim overhead lights come on. Richie scrolls through the playlist of songs on the screen.

Ben stops him, “I’ll pick my own song, thanks.” Richie looks hurt, but then he just shrugs and pats Ben on the shoulder, “Have fun being boring.”

Sauntering over to where the others are seated, Richie picks up his drink and nearly spits it out when the opening chords of Ben’s choice song. He turns, “Dude, come _on_!”

On the stage, Ben just shrugs at Richie, flipping him off. He begins the song.

“_I’ve been alone with you inside my mind,_”

Most of the losers groan, but Bev just blushes a little bit as she takes a sip of her drink. 

The overhead lights seem to be set to sync with the music, and they start flashing in timed patterns along with the song. Yellows and oranges flood the room as Ben stands in the same spot and solemnly lets the words fall off his lips. He sings with his eyes closed and his brow creased.

From the table, Richie yells, “BOO!”

Bev shoves him in the side, and he lets out a laugh. Mike leaves the table to go get another drink, and Bill signals for him to get another for him, too. 

“_Hello? Is it me your lookin’ for?_”

From beside him, Eddie rolls his eyes and looks to Richie. He snickers, and from his other side Bev jabs her fingers into his ribs. 

Under the table, Eddie’s knees keep knocking into Richie’s. Richie takes a hand and firmly places it on Eddie’s thigh to steady his leg. Eddie coughs into his drink at the touch. 

Onstage, Ben continues to sing passionately with his eyes closed. His body sways to the music as the lights bounce around him. 

The bartender stands behind the counter with his arms crossed, Richie feels some sort of triumph. Mike returns to the table with two drinks, sliding one to Bill as he sits next to him.

As Ben’s song comes to an end, he opens his eyes again in a kind of daze. His gaze falls right on Bev, who is still blushing with her chin balanced on one hand. 

Ben makes his way down from the stage, Bill clapping obnoxiously for him. Ben glares in his direction, and then fixes the fiery gaze on Richie. He claps him on the shoulder, “Your turn.”

“Gladly,” Richie throws back the rest of his third or fourth drink, “Time to show you losers how it’s really done.”

Eddie scoffs as he rises from his seat in the booth, letting Richie out. Big mistake. Everyone begins to get comfortable again as Richie scrolls through the songs on the screen.

Swaying his hips as he walks up onto the stage, Richie smooths his hair back. The dormant lights start to flash wildly as the opening instrumental of his song choice begins. 

Mike stands up abruptly and walks away from the table, presumably to get another round of drinks. Bill tosses his head back against the vinyl of the booth, shutting his eyes to protest the events of the night. Bev laughs wildly in sync with Ben, and Eddie puts his head in his hands.

Up on stage, Richie is shaking his arms out in preparation. He does the same with his legs. A beat before the lyrics are supposed to start, he clears his throat and puffs his chest out. He starts, laying on an obnoxious voice effect, “_We’re talking away,_”

From there, he begins to move back and forth on his feet, swinging the microphone cord, “_I don’t know what I’m to say, I’ll say it anyway._”

Moving through the lyrics, the lights flash all around in odd patterns synchronized to the synth. When Richie gets to the chorus, the yellows and oranges explode in their corner.

“_Take on me_,” Then in a higher, breathier voice, “_Take on me.”_

_ _“__Take me on, take on me_.” The cord swings wildly as Richie whips his arm around pointing at each of the present losers. He belts, “_I’ll be gone_,”___

_ _ _ _What no one sees is the bartender leaving his station to cross the bar as fast as he can._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“_In a day or,_” Richie lets out the most horrifying shriek, “_Twoooo_—”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _The music cuts off, the lights go black. Richie’s voice rings out in the suddenly silent place, “_ooooo-what the fuck_, man?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“No more.” The bartender already has his back turned on Richie._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“You can’t just do that!” Richie pouts. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Ben puts his hand on Richie’s shoulder once again, “C’mon, let’s just go.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“What? No,” He gestures vaguely at their arrangement, “We’re having fun!”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“It’s okay, Rich,” Bill starts to stand, “I think we’ve all had our fun for the night.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _However, Richie isn’t listening. He storms over to where the bartender is cleaning a glass. He points at him, “Hey, what’s this all about?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _The bartender doesn’t offer him an explanation for his actions, he only repeats, “No more.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“It’s called physical comedy, asshole!” Richie barely gets the words out of his mouth before Mike and Bill both grab his arms and pull him back. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Pulling out of their grip, Richie scoffs, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m not gonna fight him or anything.” He stumbles away, crossing the threshold into the lobby of the hotel. The bright lighting blinds him temporarily, and he holds up a hand to block the source._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Richie rushes ahead of the others to press the elevator call button. He waits, and waits. He can hear the squeak of the old elevator coming down the building, but he can’t take it anymore. He’s crawling out of his skin, “Fuck it, I’m taking the stairs.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Are you sure?” Bev sounds concerned._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Yeah, it’s only two flights.” Richie turns from the elevator and cuts through the losers to find the door marked ‘stairs’. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _From behind him, Richie hears Eddie mumble, “I’ll go with him.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Pushing open the door to the stairwell, Richie doesn’t hold it open for Eddie. He begins to make his way step by step up to the third floor. The two vodka cranberries and two shots of tequila he’s had start to hit him a bit harder._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Careful to stay on the same step as Richie, Eddie watches the ground as they take each stair one at a time. Richie’s shoulder brushes into Eddie’s. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _It happens a second time before they’re even up the first flight, Richie bumping into Eddie. He puts a hand on Richie’s upper back to steady him._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“You don’t have to do that,” Richie remarks into the tight space.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Eddie nods, “Don’t want you to fall.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Dickwad, I’m doing it on purpose.” Richie looks at him through dirty glasses._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Why?” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Richie laughs, “Because I want to.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I thought you were just drunk.” Eddie leaves his hand where it is._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Not that drunk,” Richie says, “Just acting like it.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _As they approach the landing, Eddie ponders what Richie has just said. He wonders how to phrase what he wants to say, but gives up and just says it._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Why would you act more drunk than you actually are?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Richie scoffs at him, “Because, Eds,” He links his arm over the top of Eddies, placing his own hand between the other man’s shoulder blades, “Sometimes it’s more fun to just let go and feel it.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _For the rest of the second flight, Eddie stays quiet. Richie continues to allow his body to brush up against Eddie’s. They reach the third floor landing in what seems like both an eternity and only one second. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Out in the hallway, they remain intertwined. Walking in sync with each other until they reach Richie’s door. Richie rubs his thigh against the key card reader until the lock clicks and the door opens wide._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Spinning himself around to face Eddie, Richie finally retracts his arm. He places it on the doorframe, “So, what do you wanna do now?” He plasters on a shit-eating grin._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I don’t know,” Eddie says under his breath. He’s looking past Richie, at the messy state of the hotel bed in the room behind him. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Eddie doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Richie’s arm poised against the frame of the door. His hand dangles nonchalantly as Richie looks at him expectantly. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Instead of speaking, Eddie just raises his own hand slightly until he can reach Richie’s. He touches their fingertips together, then places their palms tightly against each other._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Richie’s hand is bigger than Eddie’s._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Broken out of his stupor by Richie’s raucous laughter, Eddie looks back to his face. The crinkles by Richie’s eyes are deep, and his laughter lines show. His glasses perch on the balls of his bouncing cheeks._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Richie pulls Eddie by their already connected hands, “Oh, get in here you big gay bitch.”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to get the losers doing karaoke off my chest


	4. decide on me, yeah decide on us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's real soft hours now

As Richie pulls Eddie into the room, the booze still has its grip on the two of them. Eddie stumbles into Richie’s chest, and when he collides with the solidity, he doesn’t even have the resolve to make some shitty comeback to Richie’s remark. 

He hesitantly wraps his arms around Richie’s torso, holding on tight. Clumsily, Richie reaches around Eddie to push the still-open door closed. He stares as it clicks into place in the doorjamb, slowly rubbing circles in Eddie’s shoulders with the heels of his hands. Eddie sighs and turns his head to bury it in Richie’s chest.

Closing his eyes, Eddie settles where he stands. The alcohol blurring the edges of his thoughts, lulling him into a bit of a stupor. He sways ever so slightly in place, Richie the only somewhat stationary thing holding him up at this point. He was a lot drunker than he’d anticipated.

Eddie knew he was a lightweight, but he’d just wanted to keep up with the others, have just as much fun as they were having. He didn’t mean to get shit-faced, it just sort of happened.

“Uh, Eds?” Richie says after quite a few moments have passed.

“Mhm?” The sound comes out muffled by Richie’s shirt.

“I don’t want to ruin your fun,” Something like _then don’t ruin it_ is buried in Richie’s chest. “But how long do you plan on standing in the doorway?”

A huff, a deep breath in, and Eddie tears himself away from Richie, reopening his eyes to the not-too-abrasive lowlight of the room. Everything about this hotel seemed to be tinged with darkness, maybe they kept it dim so you couldn’t see all of the grime, all of the years. 

With nowhere to go, Eddie leans his back up against the door. “Now what?”

After a moment, Richie shrugs, sticks a finger behind his glasses to rub his eye. “Who knows, the night is young, endless possibilities, all that bullshit.”

“Are you tired?” Eddie drums his fingers lightly on the door, pinky to pointer finger, and back.

Richie gives him a withering look, as if to say _we just ripped a demon clown limb for limb in the sewer of our haunted hometown, yes I’m fucking tired_.

Shooting his hands up in mock surrender, Eddie shakes his head. “We could just lay down. Get some rest.”

“Nah, that’s boring.” What Richie doesn’t vocalize is that he doesn’t want to rest, doesn’t want to slow down long enough to let everything catch up to him. If he stops moving, stops going, something heavy is inevitably going to come crashing down on him, to suffocate him. “Boring.” He repeats under his breath as he turns toward the small room.

Following in his wake, Eddie wonders, “Well then, what do you want to do?” His words are sluggish, like his tongue is too big for his mouth. Richie opens his duffel bag, rifling through whatever disorganized junk he threw in there before leaving for Derry.

“Aha!” He flips an item in the air, catching a small box.

Eddie stares, “Cards?”

“Yeah,” Richie turns his palms out in mock indignation, “What’s wrong with cards?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t cards.”

“Well, it’s fucking cards.” Richie flips open the paper edge of the cartridge, letting the deck fall into his hand. He begins to shuffle in midair as he walks over to the bed, kicks his shoes off, and sits down. 

Shuffling across the carpet, Eddie toes his shoes off near the wall, then makes his way over to the bed. He perches on the opposite edge from where Richie is currently sitting cross-legged, still shuffling the deck.

“Come on, will you cut that shit out and just get over here,” Richie scoffs, “You can’t play any games from the other side of the earth.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Eddie scoots closer until they were only just over a foot apart. His movements disturb the previously made-up bedding. “Now you’re awfully close,” Richie remarked, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Can you pick a struggle?” Eddie resisted the urge to roll his eyes a second time, only because the last time he did it, it set the room off spinning.

“No,” Richie leaned in closer, “I like it.”

Before Eddie could gather the brainpower to process what he meant, Richie firmly planted his lips on Eddie’s. He’s surprised to discover that Richie had applied Carmex. He recognized the tastes because he uses the same one. Their lips connect for a few beats, soft on soft.

It’s over before it really begins, and Eddie wonders if his brain short-circuited somewhere between when it started and now, causing him to lose time. The room was still spinning, but for an entirely new reason. “What was that for?” The words were out of his mouth before he could even really process the thought.

Leaning back, Richie looked at him wistfully, an expression Eddie never thought Richie capable of making. “Unfinished business.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” The way Eddie scrunched his nose while saying it, Richie thought it was adorable, but would never say so much. 

“Oh, don’t act like I didn’t take your breath away back at the quarry.” Richie began dealing the cards between them.

“I was _underwater_, asshole.” Eddie counts his cards, there’s seven of them. He watches Richie pull two cards from hid hand and set them off to the side face-up, six of diamonds in a pair. “Why does it look like you’re setting up a game of Go Fish?”

Richie draws two more cards from the deck in the middle, replacing the two missing from his hand. “Because I am setting up a game of Go Fish.” He pinched his nose while he said it to make his voice sound more nasally.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says as he fulls a pair of aces from his own hand. He sets them off to the side, face-up.

“Do you have a three?” Richie’s brow furrows in concentration.

Glancing at his hands, Eddie spots a three of clubs. He scoffs and flicks the card toward Richie. They both draw simultaneously from the deck to fill in their empty spaces. “Do you have a nine?”

Shaking his head, Richie asks, “Got a jack?”

Huffing, Eddie thrusts the card out. They draw. “Have a five?”

“Nuh-uh.” Richie squints his eyes, looks past Eddie, glances back. “Do you have a king?”

“Dude, _fuck you_.” Eddie points at Richie, “How are you doing this?”

Throwing his hands up in mock-surrender, Richie says, “Have you considered that I’m just a master at Go Fish?”

“Have I considered—_have I considered_? It’s a game of _chance_, fuckhead.” Eddie flails around, jabbing his finger into Richie’s chest. He looks incredulous, unhinged. He glances around and freezes when he catches sight of his own reflection in a mirror on the wall behind him. 

“You cheating fuck!” Eddie throws his hand of cards in Richie’s face. Richie is laughing maniacally, head thrown back all the way. Eddie shoves Richie, who falls onto his back, sprawled across the creaky bed. 

Leaning up slightly on his elbows, Richie watches in awe as Eddie yells at him some more. He reaches out and sweeps all of the cards off of the bed, onto the hotel room floor. 

Some of the cards smack into Eddie’s legs as they go flying across the room. He waves his arms frantically, letting out a strangled sound, “What was that for?”

Laughter is the only response he receives. Eddie places one knee on the bed and leans down into Richie’s personal space. He raises his hands, makes a circle, and squeezes. “I could strangle you right now! If I wasn’t so drunk I’d crush your windpipe, I didn’t even _want_ to play Go Fish but I went along with it but you’re so fucking mnmphh—”

It’s that moment that Richie chooses to grab Eddie’s shirt by the crooked collar and yank him down into a kiss. Eddie goes silent and Richie almost misses the sound of his wild ranting, but at the moment he’s a bit more interested in the way the sound had died in Eddie’s throat.

They bump noses as Eddie deepens the kiss, pressing more insistently, sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils. Richie leans further up, takes Eddie by the arm, and guides him until he’s flipped them over. Eddie doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so he just lays them gently above his own head.

Pulling back, Richie asks, “Is that all it takes to shut you up?”

“Excuse me?” Eddie snaps out of a bit of a stupor, “I don’t know who the fuck you think _you_ are but mnmphh—” Richie cuts him off by sealing his mouth closed with his own lips.

Richie smirks against Eddie’s mouth, and mumbles against his lips, “If only I’d known this when we were younger.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie muttered back, not separating the kiss. He had the slightest crease between his brow. Like he was annoyed, but couldn’t bother to really be angry. Eddie thought that if Richie would have done this when they were younger, how different things would be now.

The way Eddie was looking at him, like he was something worth the wait, Richie wants to drown in it. Richie closes his eyes and presses in closer, letting the years between them fall away like the cards he’d strewn about the room.

He feels Eddie tinkering around with the buttons on his shirt, his hand creeping up from one to the next until he reached the collar. Eddie pushes the one side he had ahold of, sliding the fabric down and away. Richie let him work the shirt off his shoulders and throw it aside, opting not to help him in the slightest while he continued his own endeavor.

Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s back, bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt in the balls of his fists, and he pulls. Richie huffs when the shirt bunches up around his neck, deciding he should probably let Eddie get it all the way off. He pulls back for the briefest of moments to toss the shirt off to the side. “Happy now?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie mumbles as he leans up to take his own shirt off. 

Reaching up, Eddie takes hold of Richie’s glasses and begins to pull them off of his face. Richie’s hand flies up and catches his by the wrist, he snatches them back playfully. “The glasses stay _on_.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie just wants to be able to see him. To really see him, to not miss anything about these moments he’s yearned after for three decades.

Neither of them makes any effort to separate long enough to take off any more clothing. They just remain shifting slightly around the bed as they entangle their limbs and their lips dance.

After a long while, Eddie pulls away. One of Richie’s hands is currently cupping his jawline, his thumb running through stubble absentmindedly. Eddie looks dazed, like he’s a bit somewhere else. “I think maybe we should get some rest.”

Richie had figured Eddie was getting tired, by the way the fervor had seeped out of his movements shortly before. It was endearing, his willingness to continue even though he was clearly falling asleep. “If you want,” Richie says softly into the crook between Eddie’s neck and shoulder.

As Eddie rolls over he utters something unintelligible, but Richie doesn’t try to figure it out because he’s too distracted by Eddie scooting backward and pulling Richie’s arm around him. Richie’s voice is a little worse for wear when he says, “Little spoon? Of course.”

“I’m begging you,” Eddie mumbles, exhausted, “Please just shut the hell up.”

“So much for that room you paid for.” Richie settles in behind Eddie, tucking his nose into that same crevice from before, between neck and shoulder.

Half-asleep, Eddie says, “Eh, I put it on Myra’s credit card.”

“Right,” Richie whispers, “Myra.”

All he wants is for Eddie to tell him to shut up again, to tell him _oh, don’t be like that dipshit I’m literally sleeping with you_. But Eddie is fast asleep, and Richie wishes he had the nerve to wake him back up and tell him how he feels.

It’s probably obvious, anyway, but Richie wants to shout at someone, at anyone _so what if I love him, I’ll love him all I want, fuck off_. However, there’s no one to tell except for Eddie’s backside. 

He presses his lips to Eddie’s skin and whispers, “I love you, Eds.” 

Richie closes his eyes and tries to even out his breathing. He hopes desperately that when he wakes in the morning, his bed won’t be empty.

No dreams come to Richie in his slumber, he sleeps soundly and doesn’t shift around throughout the night.

When he regains the first wisps of consciousness, before he even opens his eyes, he’s acutely aware of Eddie’s body still pulled flush against his own. He wonders what woke him, only to feel Eddie continue to move his hand, which he must have been doing before Richie stirred awake. 

With his arm still wrapped firmly around Eddie, Richie felt as he ever so slowly and delicately slid his own hand up the bed, and intertwined their fingers. 

The smallest semblance of Eddie’s hand tightening its grip sent blood rushing into Richie’s cheeks. Richie held back a grin, and squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed this little fic, i had a really fun time writing and sharing it and i hope y'all had just as much fun reading it! feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> you can find me on twitter @wasteiandbaby

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated!!


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